


Limited Time Only

by cerie



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s the Pumpkin Spice Latte, it’s limited time only, and that’s why everyone’s freaking out about it. Supply and demand. And can you stop doing that?” Ichabod frowns a little and steps inside the shop, clasping his hands behind his back as he surveys the board behind the shopkeep. It’s English, but no English he recognizes as the ideas of lattes and chai and frappuccinos are utterly foreign to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limited Time Only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Waterfights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waterfights/gifts).



> Mostly Gen, but Ichabod/Abbie if you want to read into it (Protip: I did.)

“I have never heard of such excitement over pumpkin before.” Ichabod wrinkles his nose at the sign propped outside one of the numerous Starbucks dotted around Sleepy Hollow and tries not to feel terribly indignant when Abbie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She looks upon him with a mixture of exasperation and pity half the time and while the former is somewhat endearing the latter sets his blood to boiling. Her hand touches the door, presumably to push it inward, and Ichabod closes the distance quickly, pushing the door open before she gets a chance. 

“It’s the Pumpkin Spice Latte, it’s limited time only, and that’s why everyone’s freaking out about it. Supply and demand. And can you stop doing that?” Ichabod frowns a little and steps inside the shop, clasping his hands behind his back as he surveys the board behind the shopkeep. It’s English, but no English he recognizes as the ideas of lattes and chai and frappuccinos are utterly foreign to him. The only word he recognizes on the entire board is scone and even that, apparently, is loaded with pumpkin. Pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin.

“Stop doing what, Lieutenant?” Abbie waves her hands a little toward the door and shakes her head. “The door opening thing. I can open my own doors, you know. I’ve got a gun and a badge too and last I checked, I was pretty good at using them.” Ichabod frowns at the menu for a moment longer before turning to look at her. 

Abbie Mills is at least a foot shorter than he, yes, but he has seen her be more than capable in any number of situations. She’s an excellent shot and a quick thinker, one of the most intelligent people he’s ever had the good fortune to meet. She has strength of character and stubborn tenacity and all of these things are far more important than her beauty, which is considerable. He finds it strange that he doesn’t consider her beauty first among her charms, as it is most evidently there, but he does not. There is much, much more to Abbie Mills than a pretty face. At the moment, that face is twisted into something halfway approaching a scowl and he wants nothing more to bring a smile to her lips again.

“Ah, well, it is the duty of a gentleman to afford a lady all the courtesies he can and then some. I would be a boorish oaf if I did not open doors for you or pull out your chair. It speaks nothing to your capability of doing such things, as you are quite capable at anything you set your mind to doing in my admittedly-limited experience but it is, rather, a matter of respect. My time is much different than yours, Lieutenant, and while I want to embrace the changes of the last centuries there are some things I will doggedly cling to. One of those things is, and always will be, my manners in relation to a lady.”

Abbie gives him a strange look, as if she’s trying to wrap her mind around that, and he supposes that she comes to the conclusion that she’ll allow his gentlemanly overtures given this particular explanation. He’s glad of it, for denying Abbie Mills the courtesies her position demands of him would feel unnatural in a way he is not particularly inclined to force. He would, for her benefit, but he is glad the point is moot. 

“Yeah, yeah. So, do you want the pumpkin or the caramel? My treat.” He has yet to obtain any currency and isn’t fond of charity but the purchase of this drink seems more in camaraderie than pity and Ichabod is inclined to accept it. They are, of course, on the opposite ends of the spectrum in very nearly everything but at least in this mystery, they are working in tangent and not opposite. He is glad of it, for the lieutenant is formidable and would be quite the stumbling block if she did not consider his theories to be rooted in quasi-fact. It is still a struggle, at times, but he feels that she respects him and he finds that this is something he strives to achieve continually.

“The pumpkin. It seems to be particularly lauded.” Abbie seems to find this funny and orders two of the drinks, collecting them and crossing the room to settle at a table with two low, fluffy chairs. Ichabod sinks into it, his frame nearly swallowed by too-soft upholstery, and he struggles to keep his posture. Abbie is perched on the edge of her chair, ever watchful and waiting even in this seeming break from their duties and he again is fascinated at the things that make her up. She is almost always poised and primed for action and very little seems to catch her unawares. She sips at her coffee and nods toward his, eyes bright with mirth. “Go on. Give it a shot.”

Ichabod tastes it tentatively, trying to decide how he feels about the concoction. There is cinnamon and pumpkin and a large quantity of cream. It’s laden with sugar, far sweeter than anything he would normally choose for himself and he finds himself wishing for a cup of nice, black tea in order to cleanse his palate. He purses his lips and puts the drink down, unsure if he will be able to finish it. While he has tasted many more unpleasant things, this ranks highly in the list of things he never wants to pass his lips again. 

“Guess that’s a no, since you look like you just sucked a lemon. Too sweet?” He nods, reaching for the scone instead. Abbie had taken pity on him and ordered a plain one and while it was still excessively sweet, it was somewhat more tolerable than the coffee had been. This, it seemed, was more to his liking. 

“I am convinced that in the modern era none of you care for subtle goods. Everything seems...too much, I think. Too much salt, too much sugar. There is something to be said for being subtle and unassuming.”

Abbie laughs and her smile is hidden behind the rim of her cup. Ichabod finds that he wishes he could see it a bit more clearly, to see how her face glows when she’s amused, because it happens far too little in his again, quite limited experience.


End file.
